You Don't Know What It's Like to be Me
by t-Cobalt
Summary: At the age of seven, Prince Maxon runs away from the pressures of his life at home. Lost, tired, and naïve, he finds his way into the home of a young Seven who is trying hard to get an education by any means possible – even going to the extreme of stealing books. Although Maxon will hardly remember it in years to come, this encounter has the potential to change his life forever…
You Don't Know What it's Like to be Me

It was late at night. I was about to unlock the door when I heard tiny footsteps patter behind me. Immediately I whirled around, ready for anything – this wasn't exactly the safest area in town – but relaxed a little when all I could see was a boy of about seven running down the street. Although he was dressed all in black and could have been invisible in the night, he was not only slapping his feet on the sidewalk loudly, I could also hear him sobbing from nearly a hundred meters away.

I decided it must be a runaway. What parent in their right mind would let a kid out at this hour in this neighborhood? So I stopped and waited for him to reach me – he did stop when he saw me standing there.

"What's up, kid?" I asked as casually as possible, as if it were totally normal for me to see a boy of seven running down the street at midnight. He studied me for a few seconds, then I could see he had decided I was trustworthy. _Not really, kid,_ I wanted to tell him. _Never trust a thief._ I gripped the bag of books tighter.

"Can I trust you to keep a secret?" he asked. He had walked all the way over to me and was now standing two steps below me. I nodded, knowing what he was about to tell me. He came closer and pulled on my sleeve until I leaned down. Cupping his hand over my ear, he whispered, "I'm running away from home!"

I nodded, making sure to act a little surprised. Then, I turned to unlock the door. "Do you want a place to stay the night before you keep running tomorrow?" He considered it for a moment. "I guess."

Only after I had offered it, I realized how potentially awkward this could get. My first instinct was to get this boy off the street (he wasn't very likely to meet someone as harmless as me again, especially at this time of night) but he might get the wrong idea when I locked the door. Oh well. Too late now.

We both went inside, I quickly tossed my bag into the bedroom, and then I turned on the light. The kid was still very young – blond hair, brown eyes, and pudgy cheeks – and I figured he must be a really rich kid who didn't know anything about the world. When I'd run away as a little girl, I would never have gone into any stranger's house, ever. He eyed me with the same curiosity as I eyed him – once I was sure we were done staring at each other, I went into my living room and began to get out a blanket and a pillow for my little houseguest. Of course, I would somehow convince him to go back in the morning, but I had to pretend like I totally took his running away seriously. After getting him seated on the couch, I asked if he wanted anything to eat or drink. "Got a long journey tomorrow, eh?" I asked. "Need to build up your strength."

He nodded, and I went to warm up the soup I'd had for dinner earlier. Of course it was meant to last another two days, and I was already running out, but this was a special case. I'd manage somehow. It didn't take very long and soon we were both happily slurping soup. He looked incredibly tired, since he'd probably been running for a while. I tried hard not to stare at him for the entire time, but I was also trying to find out who he reminded me of.

"So…" I began once we had finished. "Any particular reason why you've decided to run away?"

He hesitated. "It was all too much. My father expects too much of me, and I keep disappointing him."

I nodded sympathetically. "That's awful." I began to clear away the bowls and rinse them as I contemplated what to say next.

"At least you have a dad," I finally told him when I came back. He looked at me with big brown eyes. They reminded me of some sort of baby forest creature – too young to have seen the darkness of the world. "You don't?" he asked. I shrugged. "Not that I remember. They told me he was a drunk and died soon after I was born." "Wow. You're lucky. My father is the strictest father in the world. I wish I only had my mother," he told me earnestly, yawning. I nodded slowly. This was going to be harder than I thought. "How strict? I bet my uncle was stricter."

He laughed (it was a cynical bellow, really, and it shocked me to hear it coming from such a young face) and shook his head. "My father hits me when I do things wrong." Lifting his shirt, he showed me dark blue bruises all over his back and abdomen. I grimaced. "Wow, that must hurt. Do you want something to put on that?" He nodded gratefully, and I got up to get some ice. Again, I technically couldn't afford to spare any (I froze the water I got so it would last through the shortages) but this was a special case. He sighed with relief when I put the ice cubes wrapped in a towel over his bruises. I shook my head. "My uncle hit me too, but he didn't really do bruises. He always made it bleed. But I guess your dad wants to keep this hidden from your mom?" Only now I realized that he called them mother and father. Rich kid, definitely.

The boy nodded. "She doesn't know."

This was my chance. "Well, I hope she doesn't take your running away too hard, then. I guess it'd have been easier for her if she knew about the hitting. You know, since now she'll be all confused about you running away."

He gulped. "I didn't even think of mother! She'll be so scared for me!"

I had planted the seed of doubt in his mind. Now I needed to leave it to grow. "Is she a nice lady?" I asked. He nodded. "She's the best! Mother loves me more than anyone else."

"Are you an only child?"

He nodded again.

"Wow, that's even tougher. Your parents will think they're failures when the see you've run away."

He stared at the table for a while. "Yeah," he finally muttered. "I guess they will." Then he looked up. "So… what were you doing on a Tuesday night at midnight out and about?" he asked. I jumped at the question. "Uh… well… I was… babysitting. For my cousin. Yeah."

I could tell he didn't buy the lie. Before he could attack, I sighed. "Fine. But don't tell anyone, okay? I was… stealing something."

"What?" he asked, excited. "What did you steal?"

I went to the bedroom and got out the bag I had tossed away earlier. I pulled out the books and showed them to him. His face fell as he looked at them. "You were out stealing, and you stole books?" he asked, rolling his eyes. I smiled sheepishly. "Don't tell anyone. But I really want to get an education, and I can't. So I steal books from empty schools in the summer so I can read and hopefully learn." I cringed at how bad that sounded. "I do return them. Later. Once I've finished with them."

He shook his head. "If I weren't the – who I was, I wouldn't care about learning at all. I hate it." We both stared at each other in disbelief. "You must be a rich kid," I finally told him. "Believe it or not, there are many people out here who wish they had had a real education."

He sighed. "But I don't care about all this stuff. I just want to be normal. But I'm stuck learning about how the world works and I don't understand much of it and it's all so confusing."

I stared at him for a while. Then it clicked. "Oh heavens!" I yelled, startling him. "You're the prince, aren't you? You're Prince Maxon?"

He nodded. I sat back on my chair, dumbfounded. I was in way over my head. What if they found him with me and then accused me of kidnapping him? That was high treason! I could be made an Eight, I could even be hanged! Again, they would totally get the wrong impression when they saw that he was in my house. Wow. This had gone dark fast.

He sighed. "Now you know you're gonna treat me differently, like everyone else."

I paused, then nodded. "I probably will. It's hard not to treat someone differently when they happen to be the Prince of Illéa."

"At least you're not telling me what to do all the time," he muttered, stabbing at the table with his perfectly cut fingernails. They didn't look like he'd ever chewed them a day in his life. He then used his index finger and thumb to hold his nose. "Prince Maxon!" he said in a nasal voice with a totally over-the-top accent. "What are you doing out horse-riding when intellectual pleasures await you?" He got up and began to prance around the kitchen. "Prince Maxon! What do you mean by behaving in such an antisocial manner? Get out from behind that camera at once and stand in the picture!"

I began to laugh. He looked up, surprised. "You think this is funny?"

I nodded. "I know it's probably not funny in the moment. I'm sure you're surrounded by people who either try to suck up to you or tell you what to do all the time." He nodded passionately. "But believe me, as a little girl I would have killed to be in your situation."

His small nose scrunched up. "Why?"

"Sure, it's not easy, and I'm sure you must hate it. But being surrounded by people telling you what to do can be better than figuring it out for yourself while watching your closest friends mess up their lives and either die or go to jail. Having to learn from books when you want to be out having a normal childhood may suck, but what sucks even more is a grown woman who steals books because she never had any as a kid." I began to play with my hair. Tomorrow was my shower day – I couldn't wait.

He stopped to contemplate. Then, his face hardened. "It's easy for you to say that I'm in the best position ever and that all's fine and dandy. You don't know what it's like to be me!"

I nodded. "You're right. I don't. But you don't know what it's like to be me either. You're a One, I'm a Seven. You're pampered and adored and disciplined and sometimes abused. I was cast aside, abused, given the freedom to make my own decisions, and taught to fend for myself. I can't tell you which is harder, or worse. But I can tell you that neither is easy, and we're both stuck doing what we can with what we have where we are." I stopped, hoping that the message had sunk in. I wasn't usually good with words. Then, I rubbed my face. It really was getting late.

"Do what I can with what I have where I am," he repeated. "I like that."

I grinned and tousled his hair, only to stammer an apology when I realized this was the prince of Illéa I was treating like the kid he was. He laughed it off.

"Please don't tell anyone about father," he told me. I nodded. "Please don't tell anyone that I steal books. I could go to jail!" I told him. He nodded.

We sat in silence for a while.

Finally, Maxon got up and shook my hand. I felt compelled to stand up in the ceremony of the moment, even though we were only in my small dirty kitchen at two in the morning. He really was a formal little gentleman. "Thank you for letting me stay. If you don't mind, I'm going back in the morning," he told me earnestly.

I grinned. At least I had been successful. "No worries, kid… I mean, your Highness." He made an impatient gesture which I took to mean I could stop with the titles. "Duty calls, eh?"

He nodded, then turned around to look at the room. "Do you mind if I take a picture with you?" he asked, pulling out a small camera. I blinked, then nodded. "Sure, no problem."

We posed in front of the wall, with me on my knees so our faces would be next to each other.

Ten days after he had left, one of my castle guard friends gave me a small envelope. In it there was a short note reading **Thank You** in uneven script, as well as a photo of a young lady with short, spiky black hair kneeling next to a smiling little boy with brown eyes and blond hair.

I use it as a bookmark these days. I'm sure he would appreciate that.


End file.
